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OF THE 



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IN HUMOROUS VERSE; 



And Dther Pdeiusi 



7— 

BY JAMES M. STEWART. 



DE(i 



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Pnblisl)cii bg 

THE COMMERCIAL PRINTING HOUSE, 

Baltimore, Md. 

1884. 

Cnpyrigliteii, 1884. 



PRICE, 25 CENTS. 




rETEiSiETETSiM 






FROM STEAM PRESS OF 

DOWLING & Co., 

So Exchange Place, Baltimoue, Md. 

(Klectro Plates.) 









Sqmir 



OF THE 



€ji%h 0f Jnitljenfels 



Ii\ Sun|oi^ou^ Vei'^e. 



AND SOME OTHER POEMS. 



J. M. S. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year j'?84, by 

JAMES M. Stewaet, 

izx the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Waahinglon, D. C. 



PEE FACE. 

I HAVE b^eii informed that the publishers are ta- 
king measures to phice this vohiiiie in the hands of 
every man, woman and chihl in the world, for a 
small pecuniary consideration. It is hojjed that no 
one will be overlooked in the distribution ; but if 
any find, or deem thejnselves neglected, they may 
address jne — taking care to enclose the amount re- 
quired, (as a guaranty of good faith,) — and I will 
see that they are attended to and the publishers 
reprimanded. 

J- M. S. 



OOXTENTS. 

PAGE. 

THE LEGEND 5 

The Poem. 

CANTO FIRST 13 

The Baron. The Chieftain. Tlae Knight. 
The Lord. 

CANTO SECOND 22 

Hildegarde. Sir Boland. The Meeting. 
Postponed. The Crusaders. The Part- 
ing. Dull Times. 

CANTO THIRD 41 

The Battle. The Onset. Roland in the 
Battle. After the Battle. Tiie Return. 
The Waitings Bride. Hildegarde 's Song. 
The Revel. The Palmer. The Palmer's 
Song. Trouble. The Hermit. The In- 
terview. Tumult. As You Like It. 
The Knight's Return. Advice too Late. 

Note 71 

CANTO FOURTH 7^ 

As I Like It, Love in Sadness. Nonen- 
werth. "What the Baron Thought. Con- 
vents. 

CANTO FIFTH . 88 

Taking the Yeil. The Rescue. Confu- 
sion in the Convent. The Wedding. 
The Banquet, 



®ltf ^§(Cit\Hl 



Briefly aud concisely narrated, the real story, as 
told by the inhabitants of the Rhine lands, is as fol- 
lows : 

In the time of the reign of the Emperor Charle- 
magne, there lived a famons knight, a paladin of the 
Empire, whose name was Eoland, who, besides being 
renowned as a warrior highly accomplished in all 
matters pertaining to war and chivahy, was further 
distinguished in the personal dignity which he en- 
joyed as nephew to the Emperor, 

Beside the river Ehine, in the Grand Duchy of 
Hesse Darmstadt, upon one of the mountains which, 
with six others uniting, form the group known as 
the Sieben Geberge, stands all that remains of the 
Castle of Drach&nfels,— a lovely ruin, the view from 
whose highest wall commands a wide expanse of 
country, with richly diversitied scenes, characteristic 



y 



vi The Legend. 



of the lands through which the beautiful liver flows, 
between tlie cities of JNIayonce and Cologne, as it 
Ijours onward to empty into the German Ocean. 
This castle, aa hich time and its agencies are slowly 
leveling to the surface of the crag upon which it was 
built, was once the abode of one of those castled 
knights, or smaller barons, who, if we may judge by 
the number of their strongholds, now happily gone, 
or going to decay, were numerous in the middle 
ages, — no doubt to the great discomfort of their vas- 
sals, who tilled the soil and forced scanty subsist- 
ence from the sterile hillsides and the then scarcely 
more generous valleys. The Baron of Drachenfels, 
with the exception of some few peccadillos common 
among persons of his standing in those troublous 
times, is now chiefly known and spoken of in the 
legends as the possessor of a daughter named Ililde- 
garde, — a lady of great personal beauty, and, as we 
are happy to fancy, of highly engaging manners 
joined to much sweetness of disposition. 

A meeting took place between Eoland and Hilde- 
garde, — how brought about, or for what purpose, is 
not stated; and the result of this meeting was their 
becoming deeply enamored of each other and their 
engagement to wed. But before their marriage 



The Legend. vii 



could take place, Roland was summoned to join the 
array of crusaders, then organizing in many coun- 
tries of» Europe, to march to Palestine, for the pur- 
pose of wresting Jerusalem from the possession of 
the Saracens, over whom Saladiu (or Sala-ah-deen), 
a lineal descendant of Mahomet, reigned as the 
monarch. 

i^ews traveled but slowly in those days, especially 
between countries so far distant from each other as 
Syria and the lands of the Franks and Teutons. It 
was principally brought from the Orient to Europe 
by wandering persons — religious enthusiasts, or so 
reputed, who were known as palmers, or pilgrims. 
After the absence of Eoland for many months, du- 
ring which time he won high renown as a knight 
champion, the report went forth that he was slain. 
The sad tidings reached Hildegarde, and plunged 
her into a state of grief and despair so profound, 
that she resolved to give herself up to the service of 
the Lord, and pass the remainder of her Ufe as a 
cloister nun. 

Directly opposite the mountain upon which the 
castle stood, upon an island formed by two arms of 
the river, there was a conventual establishment in- 
habited by a pious sisterhood called the iJiTuiis of 



The Legetcd. 



Nonenwerth, taking the designation from the name 
of the island. Hildegarde joined this gentle com- 
munity, and, as a reward for her deep piety and her 
simple and sweet life, she in due time became the 
abbess of the convent. 

But the tale of the death of Sir Eoland was not 
true. He was grievously wounded, and for a long 
time he wavered between living and dying ; but he 
finally recovered. He went back to Germany to 
claim his bride; but she had already taken the vow 
of a nun, and therefore was lost to him, in the ten- 
der relation so earnestly desired by both. . 

Loving his gentle maiden still, with a passion that 
seemed to increase, not diminish in view of the sep- 
aration, the good and rare lover built for himself a 
castle, which he called Eolandseck, directlj' oijposite 
the island, upon the mainland facing the shore 
above which towered her father's castle, whence he 
could gaze upon the last earthly home of his be- 
loved Hildegarde, and perchance behold her at her 
devotions, at times, and so float away down the 
stream of years giving free indulgence to his earnest 
and tender grief. 

As one passes down or up the Rhine, he sees 
the ruins of the two castles, between which is the 



The Legend. ix 



island, embowered with beantiful shrubbery, iu and 
above which arise the white walls of the convent. It 
is a lovely scene, and we wonder not that tradition 
has invested it with so much interest, in the tale 
which the inhabitants of the lands adjacent to the 
river love to tell, of the loves and woes of the 
Knight Eoland and the Lady Ilildegarde. 

But whether the legend is founded upon fact, or 
whether there be any ground for it to rest upon, 
must remain an unsettled thing, for it is sui>ported 
only upon the testimony of a vague tradition ; and 
in that country where every castle has its legend, 
every hill its story, every valley its unearthly inhab- 
itant, and every forest brook its silver, it is more safe 
to doubt than to believe. Certain it is that the tale 
is told substantially as I have given it in the poem, 
except that I have differently treated it. A slight 
mistake, however, touching the matter exists some- 
where. In the legend, as I heard it while making 
the passage down the Ehine, and as it is currently 
told, Eoland is wounded and taken prisoner at the 
disastrous battle of Eonscavelles. This is greatly at 
variance with history, which states that Sir Eoland, 
the paladin, perished at Eonscavelles. I have given 
myself little trouble about this conflict of testimony, 



The Legend, 



deeming it, at this late day, a small matter whether 
the knight was slain at Eonscavelles or not, or whe- 
ther the minor catastrophe occurred there, or before 
the walls of Acre, in Palestine. It is not assuming 
too much to say that there might have been another 
Knight Eoland, who was the lover of the sweet lady 
of the Castle of Brachenfels, and that he, after 
fighting valiantly among the crusaders in the Orient, 
fell and was taken captive at Eonscavelles, whence 
he escaped, to go back to Germany, but only to suf- 
fer the bitter disappointment spoken of. This is 
possible, but highly improbable. It is also iwssible, 
but highly improbable, that there was a lady of the 
Castle of Drachenfels, named Hildegarde, who be- 
came the victim of such a serious mischance. The 
better way, as it seems to me, in judging the tale, is 
to regard it as only a slow growth of the popular 
thought, — a fancy — one of those poetic fungi, which 
are so apt to start up in the common but ignorant 
mind, which loves to invest peculiar scenes with all 
that may be invented to heighten their interest. 
Popular fancies often run riot around objects about 
which autlientic histories have given startHng rec- 
ords; and the lives and deeds of those German free 
livers, of the remoter times, who, from their turrets 



The Legend. 



XI 



and battlements, could hurl defiance against those 
who ventured to pry too closely into their secrets, 
no doubt furnished many incidents which colored 
and intensified their memories among the descend- 
ants of those who felt so peculiarly the power and 
influence of their lords. 

Whether the tale be true, or only half true, I trust 
it will be conceded, at least upon the latter supposi- 
tion, that I have violated none of the literary or 
other proprieties in my manner of presenting it. 

The Author. 





Jfiig^ttir n\ 1|^ @it$Hq ti| Jriid^iJtfeb* 



/ 

Canto ,^if!Sit 



SUCTION L 



The Baron. 

On tlie top of a lofty and craggy height, 
Near that beautiful river, the Rhine, 
In a castle once deemed very fine. 
Many ages ago, 
As the legends show, 
There lived a rough, crusty old German knight, 

Or baron, for aught I know, — 
Something higher than peasant, or vagabond churl, 
liut as proud as a margrave, a duke, or an earl. 
Or a mastilf abroad, with his tail stiff a-curl, 
Or the titled and rich-Wpod^cl \)^m 



14 Le(/end of the Drachenfels. 

That comes o'er the ocean, a piuk of gentility, 
With surname high-sounding. 
Assurance abounding, 
With a low style of wit, 
And not much of it, 
To find a rich dame 
To endow with his name, 
And the gilt and veneer of his tinsel nobility. 

The old baron's blood was as limpid and clear 
As that in the veins of the noblest De Vere, 
Or the haughtiest chief of a Highland clan. 
With kilt and plume jaunty. 
Pants absent, or scanty. 
Or a Sagamore war-painted, full black-and-tau, 
Or the Ottoman sultan, poor, loving and lazy, 
With ideas on matters political hazy. 
Or a Spanish hidalgo, or any man 
That comes of a noble line, 
And was spiced by high living, and generous wine 
Made beside the above-mentioned river, the Ehine. 

The date of his birth is now lost, I trow, 

And the year of his death was so long ago. 

That the moth-eaten chronicles, mouldy and brown, 



Roland and Hildcgarde. 15 



Ou index and page 
Fail to mention his age, 
When he drank his last drink, 

And hung up the mug, 
And winked his hist wink 
In the death-angel's hug, 
As his si)irit went uj) and his body went down, — 
And the devil, I think, 
Secured the brown jug, 
To hold as a proof of his claim, to present 
As a check for his trunk, wheresoever he went. 

His castle is crumbling to dust, and I doubt. 
Should you travel the wide Earth o'er, 
If a trace you could find of his gore. 
In any man's veins about. 

Whom the world could not very well do without. 
And could have well spared before. 

I would not defame him, now dead and gone — 
Dead this many a hundred year, — 
For, should he on Earth reappear. 
And I happen to meet him, in open, or glen, 
I would do, as I think did the bravest of men, 
Kot bound by a knightly vow, 



16 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

Nor remarkably fond of a row, 
Who, in such an emergence, their honor wOuld pawn, 
And run, like a hare, or a frightened fawn, 

From the glint of his ghostly sjjcar. 
But the tale must be told, do it damage, or grace : 
Those castled chiefs were of rude, wild race, 
As many a fine old legend tells, — 
Caring little for matin or vesi)er bells, 
For bishop, or priest, 

Or church in full blast, 
Or the hoofs of the beast 
From heaven out-cast^ 
And, when lance was in rest, 

And wrath was in play. 
Full as bad as the best. 
In a foray, or iray, 
Was ^e lord of the Castle of Drachenfels. 

The Chieftain. 
On the pages of Scott and Macpherson, 
A chief is a very grand person. 

But, could we, in these days, 

By a magical spell, 
Those old fellows raise. 
And ask them to tell 



Roland and Rildegarde. 17 

How amoug men they moved, — 

Ask their claim to estate — 
What their title deeds proved, 
Giving warrant and date, — 
I think it wonld puzzle them 
To show when they bought it; 
And Satan would blush. 
And tell them to hush, 
Or start up and muzzle them. 
If they tried to explain how they got it I 

The Knight. 

When the minstrels sing of the " good old time, 

We love the tune and endure the rhyme; 
But the claim is a canting hypocrisy — 
Like a proud but decayed aristocracy. 

The phraze is a humbug, — a lie per se, 

And herein do history and I agree. 

Perhaps I do damage — perhaps I ought — 
To much that the novelists say, 
In the old-fashioned tale-telling way. 

When fancy takes flight, 

And they tell of the knight, 

In his gold and steel mail. 



18 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

With a troop at his tail, — 
How in bower he loved, how in tourney he fought. 
Now, to tell the sad truth, 
Those were times full of ruth 
And ravage, and misery sore, 
When men, clad in steel. 
With R])ur on the heel. 
At the head of rude bands 
Of lusty campaigners — 
Their jacks, or retainers, 
With spears in their hands. 
And i)ennons and banners. 
And with very bad manners, 
Rode freely the country o'er, — 
Especially those 
Whose bones repose 
In the graves by the Rhine's green shore. 
They had little regard for the wrong, or the right ; 
They would revel in castle, would bluster and fight. 
They would browbeat and cudgel a timorous wight, 
And would pilfer his gain — 
His gold, or his grain, 
Or his kine. 
Or his swine. 
Or his rich red wine, 



Roland and HiJder/arde. 19 

And would leer on his maiden fair, 
With her ringleted auburn hair, 
And her full brown eyes so bright. 

The Lord. 
There seems to have been, since the world began, — 

At least since the dawn of tradition. 
The need of a very superior man. 
In every community. 
To seize opportunity 
To hold other men in subjection. 
As a part of some deep and mysterious plan — 
Or such is the fair supposition, 
And a matter for wholesome reflection. 

In the great distribution of brain, 
The strangest conditions exist : 

Some cannot use half they obtain. 
Some get not enough to be missed. 

Some men appear heirs to good luck. 
And others to nought but disaster ; 

Some prosper through wisdom and pluck. 

And some need the whip of a master. 

Why one man is rich, and another man poor, 



20 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

Why one is a noble, another a boor, 

Why one is a saint, and another a sinner. 

Why one is a loser, another a winner, 

Why one man must beg, and another man give, 

Why the peasant must toil that his lord may live, 

All these, and a thousand such questions arise, 

To stui)ify ignorance, puzzle the wise ! 

Who can tell why these strange contrarieties ? 

Of this mixed-up condition tell why it is f 

Ask nature the question,— , 

She blunders and guesses; 
Her every suggestion 

A failure confesses. 
Ask for most things the reasons, 

Her only reply 
Is this : " In their seasons, 

All people must die !'' 
All her processes show. 
When the time comes to go 

This life we must give^ 
But what we don't know 

Is, why some people live. — 
One is blessed, one is cursed. 
Both are equally nursed, 



Roland and Hildegarde. 



21 



111 this : drawing breath 

From one common mother, — 
Yet they war with each other j 

But the sickle of death 
Makes every man brother! 

The range of conjecture is wide as the Earth, 

But thought and conjecture both perish at birth. 

Light breaks, but to vanish in darkness of night, 

When we ask : What the beam ? and Wlience Com- 
eth the light % 

Borne onward, hurled back, like the surge and the 
tide, 

Or, as wiiiideriiig at night with no star for a guide, 

One conclusion we reach, and one inference draw : 

That such is the order of nature and law: — 

And why so 

We don't know I 




22 Legend of the Drachenfels. 




C^nto ^ttmn^ 



SUCTION L 

HiLDEGARDE. 

And now for the story I wish to relate — 
And I own that my grief upwells, 
When I tliink of her strait, 
Of the sad, sad fate 
Of Hildegarde, Lady of Drachenfels I 

The daughter she was of that crusty old baron. 

Whose family tree, 

Genealogically, 
Antedated the scriptures that liars must swear on, 
And the trees that were planted by Moses and Aaron. 
Of her beauty the world made a deal of account. 
And she pleased all the wooers that came to the 
mount. 



Eol/ind and Hildeqarde. 23 



A prince was once known — 
Of age and full growt, 
To offer his heart to her, also his hand, 
With the gesture of one who was born to command. 
Her answer was kind, 
But his suit was declined. 
And knights, in gay armor, 

Fought battles to win her, 
Which did not alarm her, 
Nor, as with some it would, 
Did the sight of the blood 

Interfere with her dinner. 
And the wisest inquirers 

Conld never discover 

Her favorite lover. 
Where gore had been shed, 
And many a head 
Was broken among her admirers. 

I warrant she was an exceptional maid, 
Who, were she now li^ing, and richly an'ayed 
In corsets and stays, 

SUks, linens and laces, 
In various ways, 

And in divers odd places, 



24 Lefjend of the DrachenfeU. 

» 

By some ykillf 111 milliner's hands, 

Would rival our loveliest female swells, 

And perhaps take the lead with American belles ; 

AVith an air as haught and a brow as white, 

A spirit as fearless, a foot as light, 

With faults as few,. 

And a heart as true 

As any in Demorest's robes bedight, 

Or any in German lands. 

Her lovers, in number, were many a score, 
And she could have commanded as many more, 

Had her list given out, 

Had she reason to doubt 
The very strong passion they prated about. 
But her heart was sealed u]>, like a delicate thiu<i 
The dove in it nestling ne'er featliered his wing, 
The warmth of her bosom ne'er kindled to Hame 
Until Eoland, the knight and the paladin, came, 

Of fame so renowned. 
That a tower on a rock 

Would fall to the ground, 

As though very unsound 
And shakv in dread of his shock. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 



Sir IvOLANi). 
Sir Eoland, of dragons and giants the loo, — 
For bis lance was their terror, his curse their ban, 
Was a knight of the Emperor Charlemagne 
Who ruled half of Christendom ages ago, 
Well keeping the peace among Christian men, — 
And I wish he were living to do it again ! 

The knight was abroad on a tour of inspection. 
To see who was wrong and required an injection 
Of steel through his diaphragm, stomach, or gullet. 
With weapon so tempered that nothing could dull it. 
He was jogging along. 
And humming a song. 
Or, perhaps, in deep musing, intent on a journey, 
To slaughter a giant, or tilt in a tourney, 
Or with some doughty knight a nice quarrel to pick , 
And, like one distraught, 
Punctuating his thought 
By giving the flank of his palfrey a kick. 
But nature, her labor refusing. 
Aroused the good knight from his musing. 
Calling loudly for something to drink, or to nnmcli, 
As lie saw the old castle perched liigh on the cragj 
And, feelinij his midriff begiuuiug to sag, 



20 Legend of the Draclienfeh. 



He went up, to ask for a dinner, or lunch. 
For the knights had to drink and to eat, 

Tissue, muscle and bone would decay so ; 
They required their per diem of meat, 

Although the old tales do not say so ; 
And sometimes were happy to greet. 

When hungry, a luunble potato, 

Or anything else they could "lay to." 



SECTION 11. 



The Meeting. 

Fair Hildegarde might have been, charminglj^ pen- 
sive, 
Gazing out on the Rhine, from her flower-bordered 
casement ; 
But no ; as their science was nowise extensive, 

She was helping the cooks with the work in the 
basement. 

When Roland there saw her, the game v/as all up 
with him ; 

She hastened away to her chamber, to dress, 



Roland and Hildegarde. 27 

And wheu she came dowu stairs, to welcome and sup 
with him, 

His delight and his rapture no words could express. 
Before he had tasted a dish of her cooking, 

He knelt at her feet and proceeded to say, 

lu the very high-seasoned and usual way. 
That she was a person extremely good-looking, 

And that he would adore her forever and aye ; — 
That nature, in forming her. 
Heaven, in warming her, 

Selected the choicest and nicest of things ; 
That she was an angel — a being ethereal — 

Who on Earth had just folded her radiant wings; 
That nothing so excellent could be material I 

(Here, in lines parenthetical, let me express 

Some doubt as to whether the painter and poet 
Are correct in their fancy — their beautiful guess — 
Very worthy, if real, we freely confess, — 
As their verses and canvas so frequently show it, 

That persons who come 

From their far-away home. 

Through high ether flying, 

And clouds lower lying. 
Commissioned to visit these earthly dominions, 



28 Legend of the Drackenfels. 



Like birds, on their shoulders have quill- feathered 
pillions. 

Grant that beings thus shown look exceedingly well; 

Stil a matter remains which they fail to make clear : 
With wings they their bodies can swiftly propel, 

But, having no tail-feathers, how do they steer ? ) 

The above by the way ; — the suggestion is mine, 

Not Eoland's, who knelt at the feet of the maiden, 
Discharging his love, like a cargo of wine. 
Spices, tropical fruits, nuts, and everything fine, 
From the hold of an ludiaman heavily laden. 
I think, on that one interesting occasion. 
That he paltered no lie save a small reservation j 
That the eloquent youth 
Told nothing but truth, 
While keeping some few former love affairs shady, — 
Like any man wise — 

As I truly would do. 
So near Paradise, 
And charmed with the view, 
As he gazed at the toes of that modest young lady. 

To bring this love scene to a proper conclusion, 
Let me say that, with some incidental confusion, 



Roland and Hildff/arde. 29 

Tbey felt toward each other the teuderest passion, — 
Tliat they k)ved and were loved iu the usual fashion, 
That she bade him arise, of her heart the first wiuuei', 
.Vnd, with appetites sliarp, both sat down to dinner. 

So her heart beeanie his; his was certainly hers, 

From the moment they met; 

And I willingly bet 

Any sum you desire, 

Be it hundreds, or higher, 
That she would have wedded him instantly then. 
And he would have throttled those other men, 
Had they dared to molest hiju with threats or denuirs. 
To trouble his wooing with scandals or slurs. 
Or to cast one reproach on his knightly spurs. 

Postponed. 
I remarked, or intended, a few lines above. 
That Hymen was willing, consenting was Love ; 
That the courtship, thougli brief, had already trans- 
pired. 
And the wedding could take place as soon as desired. 

Short wooings are best, — 
But s(ime find a i>leasure, 



30 Legend of the Brachenfels. 



In love's tender quest, 

In viewing their treasure, 
Without caring to use it ; 

But they who do this 

Xre unworthy of bliss, 
For they only abuse it. 

The baron had given consent, 
And everything smilingly went ; 
The day had been fixed for the wedding. 

The bridesmaids were nervous with glee. 
The guests were all thitherward heading. 
The priest almost fingered his fee. 
But luck turned around 

And refused to befriend them, 
Nor, as afterwards found, 
Did fortune attend them. 
For a message arrived that cut short all the sport. 

Demanding that Eoland iustauter repair, 
With his horse and esquire to the Emperor's court, 

To join the crusaders, then gathering there. 
And the bridal was put off till Roland could go 
And slaughter the Paynims — a thousand or so — 
Who infested Jerusalem, wrongly or rightly. 
Loved the beautiful captive, and clung to her tightly. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 31 



SECTION III. 



The Crusaders. 
The monarchs of Europe, in solemn convention, 
Had demanded of Christendom earnest attention 
To the fact that the Saracens, dwelling on Ziou, 

Were, for even the Hebrews, a bad substitution ; 
And bishops and priests were all urging the cry on. 
And the Pope lent his aid, with a long allocution: 
Advancing no cash, but a large absolution ; — 
A thing of small worth 
In the markets of Earth, 
When viewed in the light of a simple commodity, 
But good with Saint Peter, that testy old oddity. 
He would open the gates of heaven, 
To an imp of Sathanas even. 

If bearing a letter from Leo, 
Perhaps with a little misgiving ; 
But a man from Madrid or Vienna, 
From Aix la Ohapelle, or Eavenna, 
Or a gentleman hailing from Mayo, 
From Paris, or Rome, 
Or whatever his home. 



:V2 Legend of the Braclienfels. 

Would be welcomed with joy 

If bearing such ticket, 
By that hearty old boy, 

Aud passed through the wicket 
To the richest aud best of flue living. 

It was currently thought 

That grace t;ould be bought 

By thrusting a lance through a Payniin, 

If, by hook or by crook, 

Bell, candle, and book 

And wafer the priest failed to gain him. 

It was earnestly urged 

That Jerusalem, hoary, 

Of the Islamites purged, 

Would arise in her glory, — 

That the Koran was only a record of lies, 

Alluring away, and not to Paradise — 

That Mahomet was false and his followers vain — 

That Ziou, redeemed, would eternally reign, 

If the Moslems were cuffed out, or kicked out, or 
, slain. 

That was ages ago, before learning and science, 
From the Moslems derived. 
Had in Europe revived. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 33 



To till the whole Earth with beneficent aims ; 

When the knights and the monarchs on faith placed 

reliance, 

Having scarce enough learning to spell their own 
names. 

Sometimes I have singular fancies, when thinking 

That Palestine still is by Islam defended — 
That pilgrims who kneel at her holy springs di"inking. 
Must, for safety, be still by the Paynim attended. 
Even the sepulchre sacred is faithfully guarded 
By those who with ciu-ses are sometimes rewarded; 
Where Ishmael's children keep Jacob's from fighting, 
And the i)riests of Messiah from clawing and biting. 

In the times that I write of, scant grace one received 
Who refused to accept what the churchmen believed ; 
And Mahommedans then it was lawful to kill. 
Wherever one found them — or low, or high ; 
But the knight of the Crescent had vigor and skill, 
Coidd lay about sharply with sword or with lance, 
Coidd swiftly retreat, or more swiftly advance, 
With wild battle cry 
To taunt and defy 
The flower of that Western chivahy ! 



34 Legend of the DrachenfeJs. 



SECTION IV. 



The Parting. 
Sad was Roland, I warrant, his bride to resign, 
And all the delights of that schloss by the Rhine: 
Its larder well-stocked and its rich old wine 5 
The hunting, the hawking. 

The tournament gay. 
The tender love-talking, 
While sitting, or walking 

By moonlight away 
With his sweet lady-love. 
And angels above. 
And mortals below, 
Overheard all the How 
Of their pleasant revealings, 
With envious feelings. 
And the wood-nymphs, the fairies and elves, 
Wanted some of that rapture themselves. 

The parting was tender as love parting could be, 
[he kissing quite ardent, as love-kissing should be. 

It was a sad scene; 

None around were serene, 



Roland and Uildegarde. 35 



For Roland was greatly beloved by them all, 
Aud his squire was a pet with the maids iu the hall. 
Even the castle wild- riders, 

Eough rascals at best, 
And merely outsiders, 

Were sad, like the rest. 
The baron, while pressing- 
The hand of the knight, 
Gave his fatherly blessing, 
And spoke of the fight 
With a sort of delight, 
As who, if the gout had not laid him on shelf. 
Would not behind lag. 
But would straddle his nag. 
And go as a merry crusader himself. 
The sweet lady cried ; but, as tears did not mend it, 
She gave him her kerchief and bade him defend it. 

Sir Roland, while pressing his bride to his bosom. 
Shed tears, as though very unwilling to lose 'em, 
And vowed that if fate did not stand in his way. 
He would come back to her in a year and a day. 

If slain, he would greet her, 

Still happy to meet her, 
At.the post of his friend, Simon Peter. 



36 Legend of the Drachenfels. 



Then be called for his horse and his weeping esquire, 

And trotted away to the court, — 
And away with the crusaders, fame to acquire. 
To rescue Jerusalem, sick with desire, 

And get his full share of the sport. 



Dull Times. 
2^ow Eoland has gone off to glorious wars, 
To pound and be pounded, win honor and scars. 
The knights of the Crescent to meet and upset. 

To drink Orient nectar, eat dainty gazelle, 
Or wrestle with hard tack, if such he could get, 

And hasten it down with a draught from the well. 

Sweet Hildegarde sits in her bedroom, or bower, 

Pining daily, methinks, like a frost- stricken flower, 

Or one that the heat of the Summer has wilted, 

Or a maiden of forty years, recently jilted. 

Few amusements had she, — neither painting nor 
drawing ; 

Xo piano to punch and no harp to be clawing ; 

2To ninety-nine c-ent store *o ^isit for shopping, 

f^QT a bonnet bazar into which to be dropping;^ 



Roland and Hildegarde. 37 

No teacher to scold, 
As he taught this and that to her, 

Nor a step-mother old, 
To cheer up and chat to her ; 
No neighbors to gossip with — none of her station, 
Except some rough count, with a sad reputation. 
Or the priest of the parish, with dismal salvation. 
Not a lover around her, with tender attentions ; 
No temperance tea-parties, women's conventions ; 
No chance to indulge in some innocent folly. 
To drive away blues, or subdue melancholy; 
No Harper's Bazar, latest fashions displaying. 
Nor Demorest's monthly, with crazy crochetting, 
Or quilting, — (I think they so term it — 
Making bed-covers meet for a hermit;) 
No dime-novels, bloody but frisky. 
Full of medium brains and poor whiskey. 
Her spluttering candle, or taper. 
Never dripped over country newspaper 
Full of scandals, and crimes. 
And a loud call for dimes, 
And most vilfeinous rhymes 
By the Muse, in his corner. 
Mysterious, sly. 



38 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

Like little Jack Horner, 

Devouring his pie. 

The palmer, who traveled that way, 

And the loose knight, in search of a fray, 

Sometimes paused there to ask hospitality. 

Which was given with much cordiality. 

They were welcomed to wine, cake and honey. 

And, of course having no ready money. 

They settled the score 

"With drafts on their lore : 

Tales of fearful encounters relating. 

Of huge dragons slain, or left dying, 
Of hypogriffs through the air flying; 

Of princesses wooed and still waiting, 

And — a vast deal of marvelous prating. 

And— (I think they were given to lying.) 

The baron, no doubt, 
Was usually out, 
In the daytime, marauding 
For cattle, or forage, 
For racai for his porridge, 
Or wine :br the storage, 
The peasants of all their loose chattels defrauding. 



Boland and Hildegarde. 39 



Little comfort to her was he, 

Such a testy old ciu- was he, — 
Ever snapping and growling at all things about him ; 

Though to her he was kind. 

To her little faults blind, 
She was equally happy, or with or without him. 

Now since we don't know, 
How HUdegarde used up her time. 

To the East let us go. 

And embellish our rollicking rhyme 

With the shout, and the roar, and the rush, and the 
rattle. 

As the Christians and Saracens meet in the battle ! 

Taking horse for land journey, 

And ship for the sea. 
We win witness a tourney. 

Or battle, may be ; 
Where Eoland is cutting up infidel dogs; 
Like a stalwart Chicago man slaughtering hogs, 
Or a Frenchman expert disemboweling frogs, — 

And see Roland hustle 'em, 

See Roland tussle 'em, 

With strategy puzzle 'em, 



40 Legend of the DraehenfelG 



And the other knight champions gallantly bustle 'em, 
For thine honor and glory, O captive Jerusalem ! 



Before you get through the next canto 
You will probably see some hard fighting, 

Or the muse, in some lone campo santo 

Shall be hidden from sight, by the rood ! 
For, beshrew me ! if I, at this writing, 

Am not in a valorous mood ! 

I shall take the best horse I can straddle, 

And charge through the hosts of Mahomet ; 
And while hold out the straps of the saddle, 

You will not see me clipping back from it. — 
I am tired with this light fiddle faddie; 
Make way for me, then, 
A knight of the pen, 
And a great intellectual comet I 

If I am unhorsed in my ride, 
ft will not be my fault, but the foe's, 

And will not a whit injure my pride, 
If it oreak not my neck nor my nose. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 41 




Canto ihirtl. 

SECTION I. 

The Battle 
lliTow, in the very nick of time, 

We reach tlie vast, embattled plain, 
Where battle, in its rage sublime, 

Has piled the heaps of «lain on slain. 
And knightly plumes are waving high, 
Beneath that Orient azure sky. 
As bannered squadrons stretch afar, 
In the full panoply of war I 

' Tis morning, and the hosts prepare 
Again to meet in conflict there ! 
See where the Crescent, flashing bright, 
Gives back the sunrays, silver white ; 
And Arab steeds impatient stand, 
Arch their proud necks and spurn the sand ! 



42 Legend of the Dravhenfels. 



Hark ! where tiie Cliristiau lauces gleam, 
And banners wave and pennons stream, 
Best of that western chivalry, 
Hear royal Eichard's battle cry : — 

" Charge ! for your honor, good knights, charge ! 
Had ever lance a fairer targe ! 
Let each approve his knightly vow. 
For Islam dares your courage now ! 
Down visor ; lay the lance in rest ; 
Where points our sword and gleams our crest, 
There swiftly press your fiery steeds, 
And do, this day, your bravest deeds ! 
Nobles of England ! couch the lance. 
And let our English flag advance 
Beside the oriflamme of France ! 
Heaven smiles where Christ's battalions ride ! 
O'erwhelm the Paynims, like the tide 
Which, dashing on our rock-bound shore, 
Awes and devours with rush and roar ! 
Charge Austria, Spain, with courage high! 
Charge ! France, renowned in chivalry ! " 

In answering cry the INIoslem host 

Gave back the challenge, boast for boast ; 



Boland and Hildegarde. 43 

And high above the battle shout, 
Their royal leader's voice rang out : 

" Charge ! warriors of the Crescent, charge 1 
Heaven will your highest hopes enlarge I 
Death were to you but losser loss, 
If to the Crescent droop the Cross I 
See where the fierce invader conies I 
Behind you are your peaceful homes, 
Temples of learning, altar fires. 
And graves of high and reverend sires I 
Charge ! Syrian horsemen ! sweep the plain, 
And teach yon rabble bard how vain 
Are those who strive against the sword 
Drawn by the servants of the Lord. 
Our Prophet, from yon azure height, 
Will view, this day, your gallant fight, 
And open heaven's high gates to all 
Who falter not, but bravely fall ! 
Mark where your king his lance may bear. 
And plant our sacred standard there ! " 

Then the wide plain and welkin blue 
Rang with the shout of " Allah-hu ! " 
And foremost in the van was seen 



44 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

The crest of royal Saladiu. 
And Richard's proudly quartered shield, 
Far in advance upon the field, 
Gleamed in the light of Orient day, 
And led his battle-host's array. 

The Onset. 
In heaven's high vault no clouds appear; 
The breath of morn is pure and clear ; — 
An instant, and the glowing skies 
Are veiled by dust from mortal eyes, 
As swiftly on the squadrons sweep. 
In lengthened lines, or masses deep. 
Then met the knights in war's wild shocks, 
And, as by lightnings, mountain rocks 
Are hurled upon the plains below, 
Down went the warriors, foe on foe ! 
Where conflict rages fiercest, there 
The royal standards wave in air. 
Prowess displays its fearful might, 
Where princely leaders urge the fight 
With war-cries fierce, exultant, wild. 
As high the heaps of dead- are piled. 
And lance, and battle-axe, and mace, 
In ffhastlv lines their records trace. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 45 



Brave deeds upon that battlefield 
Were done that day, and many a shield 
That bore device and blazonry 
Of warriors true, of lineage high, 
That in the morning flashed afar 
A challenge to the wrath of war, 
At evening, on the ensanguined plain, 
Pierced by the lance, or rent in twain, 
Lay, scarce distinguished from the slain. 
And steeds that bore their riders well. 
Till steed and knight together fell, 
Sank to the ground, in death to pour 
Their baser stream with noble gore ! 



The foregoing is eloquent 
Language, grandiloquent I 
Or I am no judge of the article pure; 
If written by Scot; 
My purse to a dot. 
His fame had been greater, or no less secure. 
I promised to fight a great battle. 
Make harness and shield ring and rattle, 
And if I have not done it — 
Not wagered and won it, 
I offer my back for the wattle ! 



40 Legend of the Drachenfels. 



I but imitate thus the old manner of telling 
How the liuight of the East 

And the knight of the West, 
Each mounted on beast, 
And each doing his best, 
Clad in helmet of steel and steel breeches and vest, 
Met in conflict, with buffeting, swearing and yelhng, 
Like Milton's bad angel forever rebelling ! 
One fought for his home and his faith in Mahomet, 

The only religion he cared for and loved. 
The other for something as vague as a comet, 
And witli furious zeal scarcely differing from it, 

As often his deeds in the Orient ])rovetl. 
For, apart from the chiefs of the Christian battalions, 
Not one man in ten knew for what he was lighting ; 
And half of the knights were but scinvy rapscalions, 
Whom a ducit bewitched. 
And twenty enriched, 
With no coat on the back. 
Save the hide of a hack, 
And but seldom in combs and dean linen delighting. 
Where men fight for country and babies, 

We find an excuse for the battle. 

But adventurous war is like rabies, 

Not always cx)nfiDed to the cattle. 



Uoland and Hildeqarde. 47 



Well says the writer, wise and bold : 

Man is the pattern of his god ; 
For, since historic ages old, 
Since mortal feet the Earth have trod, 
The gods of men 
Have ever been 
Formed, as are they : 
A thought in clay 
Scarce equal to the common mold 1 

Else, wherefore war and bitter strife. 

When men of varying faiths compete, 
Even to the waste of human life, 
To see whose god is most complete ? 
As morning bright 
Succeeds the night 
Of ancient ruth. 
We learn that truth 
Needs not the sacrificial knife I 




48 Legend of the Drachenfels. 



SUCTION IT. 



EoLAND, IN Battle. 
Where was Sir Eoland 1 Where was he 
Among that mighty chivaky ? 
Where'er his mail-clad steed he spr.rred, 
Where'er his clarion voice was heard, 
I warrant well his lance he bore, 
Ensanguined with the Paynim gore 1 
Tine champion ! brave in battle need, 
Foremost in every noble deed ! 
Hark ! do you hear his shout of war 
King out along the field afar ? — 

" Charge for a Roland ! 
Knights of Poland, 
Denmark and Austria, France and Spain ! 
Charge for a Roland ! 
Knight of no-land ! — 
Charge ! for youi- fair lady's eyes ; 
Do deeds of high emprise, 
And win her fair hand and her rich domain !" 



Roland and HUdcgarde. 49 



Where battle's fiercest frout appears, 
His bauuer leads the glittering spears. 
Far as adventurous knights advance, 
Still further points his gory lance ! 
His helm a shining target high, 
For bolts and javelins that fly 
Thick as the withered leaves in air, 
When storm-winds strip the forests bare. 
Where gleams his battle-axe o'er all, 
Some foe must yield, or lowly fall ; 
Aiul where the Christian waii'iors ride. 
His voice directs the battle tide, 
Till morn and noontide pass away. 
And evening dons her mantle gray. 
Yet, in the shock and rage of war. 
True to the heart that throbbed afar, 
A mark full fair as haughty crest. 
His lady's scarf is on his breast ! 



After the Battle. 
Ah ! many a wife, in her distant tower. 
And many a maid, in her fairy bower, 
Where the Bosphorus mirrored the setting sun, 
Long wept for the deeds by his good lance done. 



50 Leqend of the Drachenfels. 



And many a Syrian knight wliose mail 

Had weathered the storm of that vengeful hail, 

By the sweep of his flashing blade was given 

Swift passage from Earth to the Prophet's heaven. 

And many a waif from the desert vast, 

By that ponderous mace to the ground was cast. 

And the faithful courser, its rider dead. 

With speed of the wind from the battle fled 

Afar o'er the wilderness weird and wild. 

Bearing mute tale of woe to the wife and child 

Who had waited, impatient of war's delay, 

For him who, or present, or far away. 

Was the lord of the tent and their pride and stay. 

For the bravest and best of the Christian van. 

Was Sir Eoland, the nephew of Charlemagne ! 



But wnere are the magical coat of mail — 

Armor of proof that will never fail. 

And the lance that in combat will ever prevail ? — 

Where the helmet and crest ever haughty and high. 

The shield that the foemau will ever defy, 

And the good knight that never will lowly lie "? 

For Eoland, the darling of victory, fell, 

At the head of the squadrons at Eonscavelles ! 



Roland and Hildegarde. 51 

The Eeturn. 
Fain were I still to linger long, 

Beneath the Orient skies, 
And weave the magic web of song, 

As fancy's shuttle flies, — 
"With varied weft depict the throng, 
Of warriors brave. 
The onset wave. 
And hear the battle-cries. 
Fain were I of the camp to tell. 

What gallant knight, perchance, 
Prevailed in tournament, or fell 

Before the stronger lance. 
Still would I stray o'er desert lone. 
Where fitful night- winds wail and moan. 
And sand-drifts swellf 
In many a heap. 
Like stormy waves, by mighty spell 

Arrested on the deep ; 
Or welcome back the morning sun 
With gold and crimson glory rays, 
And sing the Magian hymn of praise, 

Where Jordan's waters run. 
And still how charmed, with Arab maid. 
Reclining in the olive shade, 



52 Legend of ilie Drachenfels. 



Where stands her pitcher by the well, 
Listen to tales she loves to tell, 
With softest sighs. 
With flashing eyes, 
Responsive to her bosom's swell. 
And voice and gesture pure and free, 
Of Haroun and Zobeide. 
Nor can I, save with sorrow, part 
From those who, strong of arm and heart. 
Strove to redeem, with lance and sword. 
The heritage of Christ, their Lord. 
In numbers would I gild and gloss 
The deeds of Richard, brave and true, 
One of the fair and faithful few 
Of those grand warriors of the cross^ 
Who toiled, but haply toiled in vain, 
Or only won to yield again ! 

Fair is the theme and rich the store, — 
Ungathered wealth of rative ore; 
Still sparkle jewels in the dust, 
And some, encased in thicker crust, 
Await the lapidary's wheel — 
The free revolving thought, 
The pen by learning taught. 



Roland and Hlldegarde. 53 



Their hidden glories to reveul! 
But uot for me ; 
And not for me 
To tell the tiile of history. 
Farew ell, thou sunny Palestine ; — 
I leave thee to thy weal or woe, 
Again, on spirit wings, to go 
To that old castle by the llhine. 



SECTION III. 



The Waiting Uuide. 
On a battlement lofty the maiden stands, 

In the twilight at close of the day, 
Gazing off toward the sky, o'er the eastern lands 

In the far distnnce fading aAvay, 
As though she would question the scene, and discover. 
In the star that slione 
Low ill heaven, alone, 
A sentinel watching and guarding her lover. 
Her ringlets, unbound, in their auburn profusion, 
Fall over her shoulders, to hide the intrusion 
Of star-gaze on white bosoiu i'air as the snow. 
And she sings, with a sweet voice, thrilling and low : 



54 Legend of the DracJienfels. 

IIlLDEGARDE'S SONG. 

Star of the twilight sky, 
Shining so brightly there, 

Is my true lover nigh ? 

Hears he my lonely sigh — 
Love's tender prayer % 

Guide thou his feet to my bower ; 

Tell him ' tis love's own hour. 

Star of the twilight sky, 

Is my true lover nigh ? 

Star of the quiet night. 

Fair in this evening scene, 
Beam on him full and bright, 
Chide him with tender light. 

From heavens serene. 
Speak from the far silver gates : 
Tell him his maiden waits. 
Star of the quiet night, 
Chide him with tender light ! 

But only the night-bird near 
Gave heed with a listening ear. 
And the sigh of the distant gale, 
Response to her love-lorn wail. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 55 



And loDg- gazed the maid toward the East afar, 
And no answer came back from the twihght star. 
The wind o'er its face a cloud-mantle blew, 
And the night settled down with its chilling dew. 



The Eevel, 
In the hall was a scene of wild revelry, 

By the light of pine torches ard blazing brands 5 
For the rich drachen-blut was there flowing free : 

That generous wine of the castle lands. 
On wainscot, o'er mantel, and high on the wall. 

Hung trophies and spoils of war and chase. 

For a turbulent, aye, and a dauntless race, 
Were the rough old lords of the drachen hall. 
The long, pointed roof and the rafters high 

Were black as the night with their dusty grime ; 
And the clattering shingles scarce shut out the sky. 

As they crumbled and curled in the hand of time. 
The wail of the wiiul through the beams o'erhead, 

Round gable recesses, high, weird and dim, 
Seemed the chant for a dance of the old-time dead, 
And the shadows of revelers there, 
Thrown upward by flame and glare, 

Like a host of fantastic goblins grim. 
The baron was roaring a boisterous song, 



56 Legend of the Drachenfeh. 



The burden of which was a very bad jest, 
And his tipsy retainers were doinj? their best 
To remember the chorus aiul bring it in strong, — 

Though the words were high Dutch, 

And they were not such, 

And theii" heads were a-whirl and they sang it all 
wrong. 

The Palmer. 
As the light on the mountains grew jmle, 
And shadows crept over the vale, 
And clouds, low-lying. 
And white scud flying 
Betokened a night of extremely bad weather, 
When a bed is far better than shingle or heather, 
There was seen in the gloaming. 
Afar off, but coming, 
A " solitary horseman," on Shanks's mare ; — 
Long and loose was his robe and unkempt his hair. 

The stranger that came up the valley so late. 
Advanced till he stopped by the castle gate ; 
And he proved to be one of that vagabond ")roo(l 

That roamed about, bearing a palmer's staff. 
Of castellan, or cottager begging their food, — 
Pretending to search for a shrine, 



Roland and H'ddegarde. 57 



Who never in public a beaker would quaff 
Of brandy, or even of wiue ; 
And their nearest approach to a generous laugh 

AVas a sort of lugubrious whine. 
Ihey always seemo<l very low-hearted and brown. — 
But in secret, 1 warrant, they winked to a lass, 
AVould troll a gay carol and clink the glass, 
With an eye to the jug as the wine went down. 

The hour being past 

For a neighborly call, 
Or for men of his cast 
To ^^sit the hall, 
The drawbridge was up and the portcullis shut ; 
Most men, thus belated, 

When the storm was so nigh, 
Woidd scarcely have waited. 
But gone off to try 
For a crust aiul a bed in a cottager's hut, — 

Especially those 
Who drink not old wine freshly drawn from tlic butt, 

Before they repose. 
But this palmer, not one of the common-place gang, 
Was a minstrel, it seems, as well as a rover, 
And, with gesture of saint, but the voice of a lover, 



58 Legend of the Drachenfels. 



While the wail of the wind in his melody rang, 
Expressed himself thus, in the song that he sang : 

The Palmer's Song. 
r have come from the land where the crusader's sword. 

Flashing back the fierce glare of the Orient sun, 
Holds revel of death with the Saracen horde, 

As battles are fought and the fields are won 5 
From the land where the date-i)al]ns lowly wave 
Over mtiny a good knight's lonely grave. 
Knightly of kith and noble of race, 
Let me in, for the sake of Our Lady of Grace. 

I have many a tale of the tourney to tell, 
Where knight splintered lance for his lady dear; 

I have legends that charm like a magical spell. 
And messages meet for a maiden's ear. 

I crave of you fare that bctitteth a guest : 

A crust for my meal and a jjallet tor rest. 
Knightlj^ of kith and noble of race, 
Let me in, for the sake of Our Lady of Grace. 

I have wandered, ah ! many a long, long day. 
And must wander again in the coming morn. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 59 

To search for the shrine of Saint Mary, and pray 

For the chiUl of niortahty, sad and foriorn. 
The night dew is chilling", the storm coineth fast, — 
(Jive me shelter, I pray, from tlie pitiless blast. 
Kniglitly of kith and noble of race. 
Let me in, for the sake of Onr Lady of Grace. 



Trouble. 
" TTo ! warder !" cried ont the old knight, in a rage, 
" Who the deuce is it bellowing there by the gate ? 
Go, fetch me the rascal, — some mischievous page, 
I warrant, whose purse is as lean as his pate." 

" May it pleasure my lord," said the warder, " I think 
'Tis a palmer again, who is bound for a shrine;" 
" A palmer !" exclaimed the old chief; 
"You might as well call him a tliief ! 
However, go fetch him ; a stoup he shall drink. 
And a jig shall he calmer, to pay for the wine. 
All the better he'll pray, 
For a little rough play. 
And the sport of a German free liver ; 
But bid him pre|>are 
For a dance iu the air. 
If he tricks it this side of the river." 



(>0 Legend of the Drachenfels. 



Up went the portcullis, the drawbridge came down 
With a creak and a clang, 
A clatter and bang. 
And the palmer, sedately and slowly advancing. 
Was seized by the warder, 
According to order. 
As Barnum's brave ring-master seizes the clown. 
When the steeds in the circus are pluugiug and 
l)rancing. 
Tlie old warder haled him along toward the hall, 
With as little regard for his legs, , 
As a horse for a bucket of pegs. 
Or a mule for a basket of eggs; 
But a hand that was thrust from a hole in the wall. 
Drew the palmer away from his sight, 
So quickly, that he, in affright, 
And a state ot extreme consternation, 
At such an amaziug salvation. 

Believed him devoured by the night ! 
And he went to the hall with his nerves and his eyes 
Expressive of fear and profoundest surprise. 

The Hermit. 
The priest, at tbe board, 
Not so drunk as his lord, — 



Roland and HUdegarde. 61 



At least not so fearfully sweariug aucl yelling, — - 

When he heard the strange tale that the warder was 
telling, 

Declared that the man was a heavenly stranger — 

The ghost of some very distinguished old clerical 

Dead person — shoddy 

In substance of body, 

But in spirit alive, 

Who had chanced to arrive 

At the castle^ when, being in very great danger. 

He was forced to resort to an old-fashioned miracle. 

Had vanished away — had become atmospherical ! 

Then he set down his cup, 

And the revel broke up. 

The priest, from that day, 

Was nevermore gayj 

Private lodgings he found on the mountain side, 

In the cave of the dragon 

That Seigfried, the knight, 

His fearless old nag on, 

One day, as he chanced up the mountain to ride. 

Had conquered in fight. 

And the good priest a hermit became. 

Of the strictest propriety ; 

Saint Something-or-other his name , 



62 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

And his odor of piety 
Was so strong that the faithful could smell it 
Afar o'er the country wide. 
He wore, for a shirt, 
A thick coat of dirt, 
As a penance, and never would shell it. 
He had herbs for his food, and a skull for society , 

And after he died. 
He was classed as a saint of the choicest variety. 



SUCTION' IV, 



The Interview. 
The palmer, by some means, he never knew what, 

For his head was a-whirl and his spirit affrighted,. 
Was strongly urged on, at a moderate trot. 
Through passages dark, 

Where the toad, and the bat, 
And the old brown rat 
Had many a lark. 
Till he came to a chamber most brilliantly lighted 
With three flaring candles arranged in a row 
On a table beside which p. lady was sitting. 



Fohind and Hildegarde. G3 

Who questioned bim, while her fair face was aglow, 

Like the rose iu the scarf which her fingers were 
knitting : 

'• Your news, gentle palmer, I pray you to sta te ; 

You have come, as you say, from the Orient afar j 

Do the Christians prevail *? What the fortune or fate 

Of the princeliest knight that went off to the war"? 

Saw 3'ou Roland, the paladin, truest and best. 

With the scarf of his one lady-love on his breast V 

" Sir Roland !" he said, with his hand to his forehead ; 
"Sir Roland, I think you said;" closing his eyes; 
Two very old tricks of the man with a poor head, 
Who tries to look very sagacious and wise. 

" Yes ; Roland," the lady said ; "Roland, the knight. 
So splendid in tourney, so brave in the fight. 
Whose bride is awaiting him, somewhere, they say. 
Whom he promised to wed in a year and a day. 
Pray summon your wit, man, if any you claim, 
And tell what you know, or why hither you came." 

" I saw not Sir Roland," the palmer replied, 
" But I saw one who told what another man said ; 



64 Legend of the Drachenfels. 



And I think he will never come back to his bride, 
For the paladin sleeps on the battlefield, dead !" 

The lady sprang up with a shriek of despair. 
Then sank in a swoon to the rush-covered iioor ; 

And the palmer felt needles and pins in his hair. 

As he dashed like a maniac out through the door. 

Climbed the wall, leaped the moat and rushed down 
to the river, 

Plunged in, and I hope will remain there forever ! 



Some men will tell more than they know, or beUeve ; 
Not, perhaps, with intent to mislead or deceive. 
They jump to conclusions, unstable at best, — 
Hear the half of a tale, and imagine the rest. 
They will tell what is false, until doubt has gone by, 
And question the truth till they think it a lie. 
A condition, a look is no hint to their tact ; 
They will blurt out a thought, be it falsehood, or fact, 
From a very loose habit of thinking aloud ; 

As a donkey will bray. 

When taste runs that way, 

Little caring who hears — 

Have they sensitive ears, 
Or the dullest one finds in promiscuous crowd. 



Roland and HHdegarde. 65 

Tumult. 
The baron was dozing, 

Half drunk in his chair, 
His men were reposing 

Here, there, everywhere. 
Some lay on the table, 

And some on the floor ; 
Some were out in the stable, — 

And the general snore 
Was like trouble at Babel, 

With tribes in a roar. 

But the baron awoke 

When the shriek rang out, 
And, beginning to poke, 

In a dazed way, about, 
Heard the warder cry " Halt V 

And the maidens cry " Fire V^ 
Till from turret to vault 

The confusion was dire ! 

He called for his lance. 

With a very loose notion 
That something, perchance. 

Had raised a commotion ! 



66 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

Kicked those that were snoring, 

And rushed from the hall, 
In darkness exploring 

Far out from the wall ; 
Seeing nothing, but hearing 

A plash in the river, 
As sank, disappearing, 

The palmer forever ! 

When the maidens went up to the desolate room. 
Their lady had scarcely aroused from her faint ; 
Her cheeks bore no' trace of their former rich bloom. 
But her lips, in low sighs, uttered many a j^laint. 

In their fullness of love, 

They raised her and strove. 
With sympathy tender, her sorrow to learn ; 

And, as memory came back, 

She cried out : " Alack ! 
Sir Eoland, my good knight, will never return !" 



And Hildegarde mourned for her lover departed. 
Believing the tale that his battles were done. 

Till at last, in a state of despair, broken-hearted. 
She gave up the world for the cell of a nun ! 



Roland and Hildegarde. 67 



SECTION V. 



As YOU LIKE IT. 

I have noticed that persons pecuhaily "got ui)," 

With brains to the general average not up, 

When soul becomes troubled, and life seems a curse, 

Take to pining and piety, scandal, or worse. 

Now, I would not declare, nor would have you infer 

That I think those who give themselves up to the 
Lord — 

From the common humanity cutting the cord, 
Make a silly mistake — that they really err, — 
For useless are they among sensible people, 
As a church having only a basement and steeple; 
And if heaven will take and take care of them, then, 
Give them fair benediction and hearty Amen ! 
It may be the very best thing they can do 

To kill off the time until time comes for dying, 
Keeping out of the way, from the general view 
Of those who, more practical, hearty and true, 

Their lives to a far higher use are appl5'ing. 
But this appears clear to me — clear as the ray 
In a crystal that never will pale nor decay : 



08 Legend of the Drachenfels. 



lleligion is not a coutinual dirge , 

A physical sigh is not spiritual purge, 

And prayer is not piety, faith is not serge I 

The above may not orthodox seem, 
Unless you scan closely the sentence, 

Then, perhaps, for my thought jou may deem 
That I stand not in need of repentence. 

The Knight's Eeturn. 

But Roland was living : — alas ! and alack ! 

/ 
For Hildegarde, bound by religion and vow. 

And as dead to the world as I know she is now ; 
For, though wounded severely, he lived to come back 
To the bride he had left in the flush of her charms, 

Who bad bidden the world and her love farewell ! 

And was now a meek saint in a convent cell, 
Whom the abbess refused to restore to his arms. 

Most men, so peculiarly placed, woidd have said : 
" There are fishes for all in the great, deep sea ; 
If I cannot with her, with another I'll wed " — 
But a lover far nobler and truer was he. 
For a castle he built by the Ehine, 



Koland and Hildegarde. 69 

So near to that islaiid shriue, 
That from turret or tower, 
When he had a spare hour, 
He could gaze on the spot where his love was praying, 
Like all the poor nuns. 
Who, as current thought runs, 
Their credos and aves are piously saying ! 



Advice too late. 
If I had been there to proi)ose. 

My suggestion had been that the lovers 
Meet in secret, at daylight's close. 
Under one of the leafy covers, — 
Plan a quiet escape. 
And get out of the scrape, 
Before the next day. 
In that sensible way ; 
Leaving abbess, and chiu-cb 
And nuns in the lurch ; 
To liver e\'er after as good people ought to, 
As good, loving people have ever been taught to, — 
As nature has had 'em. 
Since Eve, the wise madam, 
Eaised Cain, with her Adam, 
In the straight that those persons were brought to. 



70 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

The tale I have told, 

As the author of old, 
To the current tradition attending, 

In a more direct way 

Gave it out, but I pray 
Love may never again have such ending ! 



So lived the true lovers, — he in his lone tower, 
Indulging his grief, 
And thus finding relief; 
She, wedded to heaven in a mystic relation. 
As hoping to win the sui)rfme approbation, 
By closing her heart to the claims of mortality. 
Until death reunited them — flower to the flower — 
To bloom side by side in some other locaUty. 




Roland and Hildegarde. 71 



The foregoing brings tlie original Legend to its 
legitimate conclusion. It has been suggested to me 
that to leave tlie good knight and his lovely lady 
in situations so unpleasant to themselves, and so un- 
satisfactory to the reader, is an act of unkindness ; 
therefore I have, thanks to au amiable hint, carried 
the story forward to a more natural termiuatiou. A 
captious critic may condemn this, as an unwarrant- 
able liberty; I shall accept his censure meekly. He 
may, also, discover the solecism in bringing upon the 
same field of action certain persons who lived each 
in other and remote times ; but 1 take shelter under 
the wing of Scott for this transgression, who did a 
like act of literary hardihood, and had the grace to 
acknowledge it. 



Legend of the Brachenfels. 




C?«nt0 iottftlt. 



SECTION L 



As I LIKE IT. 

A complaint and a protest have come to mine ears, 

Against leaving those lovers so lonely, unfriended ; 
It were best, when one reaches virility's years, — 
Say twenty, or more — 
Not less than a score — 
To let love have its way. 
Give emotion fair play, 
As I think from the first upon Earth was intended. 
In affairs of the heart, — 

I call it the brain, — 
But whatever the part, 
The presumption is plain, 
That nature her claims will not loose nor forego, 
Till we honestly pay every debt that we owe. 



Roland and Htldegarde. 73 



From Helios, aflame, 

To Earth's lowest retreat. 
Her laws are the same. 

In gradations complete. 
The star to the sun, 

The sun to the star: 
The brook from the hill, 
To the ocean the rill; 
Kin currents will run, 
T'll they mingle as one, 

Meet they near or afar. 

• 

We cannot dissever 

The part from the whole; 
The needle will ever 

Be true to the pole, 
The bee to his queen. 

The bird to his mate ; — 
Love unions are seen 

In all nature sedate. 
John, with Jennie can clean 

Best the platter and plate; 

And many a lout 

Were nothing without 
The love of some bright-eyed Kate. 



74 Legend of the Draclienfels. 



L have told the okl tale as I heard it, — 
But I own that I failed to so word it; 
And the general view 
Is : it may l>e all true, 
Or the scribe may have feigned or inferred it. 
I have stuck to his text, 

Save in methods and means. 
Although somewhat perplexed 
By his principal scenes ; 
For I fear that the ])ersou who wrote it, 
Although in his grave. 
Would start up and rave, 
And scold if I dared to misquote it. 

I heard the old tale on the Rhine, 
And the German folk never deny it, 
The legend is theirs, but the moral is mine, 
And yours, if you care to apply it. 

Had I been the writer. 
The close had been brighter; 
The lover so true — 
Such lovers are few, — 
Should not in his sweet hope have been disappointed. 
Nor his beautiful bride with the chrism annointed. 



Rolmid and HUdegarde. 75 



To the deepest despondency I would have carried 
them, 

And then, to their high satisfaction, have married 
them. 

With the general leave, 

I the matter will mend, 
And my fancy conceive 
How the story should end. 
Let me take up the tale at the i^oint where the iialmer 
Caused Hildegarde's anguish, but not with intent; 
When he, without pausing to comfort or calm her, 
Rushed down to the river, and into it went; 
And the deep and indignant old Rhine did 
For him, what the sea. 
As the gospels agree, 
For the devils that entered the swine did. 



Love in sadness. 
The poor maiden stands, like a blighted thing — 
Like a fair flower pierced by a poisoned sting, 
By the casement high in her lonely tower, 

Gazing off down the cliff toward the river Rhine, 
Sad, tearful and wan, at the midnight hour. 

Tasting the cup of life's bitter wine. 



76 Legend of the DracJienfels. 



Two [Hire, twin stars througli the cloud-rifts tlirow 
Their silvery rays ou the waA'es below, 
Where, tossed by the ripples that ftill and rise 

Like the quick, free beat of a bright bird's wing, 
They gleam like the myriad glittering eyes 

That flash in a diamoud bridal ring. 
It is omen of promise — of happier lot, 
But her spirit is dark, and she reads it not ! 
Thoughts, taking the semblance of things of gloom, 
Seem to hover around in hor darkened room; 
Then away they rush, to the l)lack night cast, 

Ever coming and going, 

Like stormy waves flowing. 
Or the sweep and the lull of a tempest blast 

To her soul there's a moan 

In the valley so lone, 
As though nature were saying, with s,\ mpathy sore : 
O hidy ! thy lover will come nevermore ! 
And she trembles, with quick, wild-pulsing fears, 
When the night bird's note in the vale she hears, 
As it springs from the bough, with a warning cry. 
Where a wandering hind" goes rudely by. 
And she questions the night, from her lonely- heart • 
Will the morning return ! Will the shadow dei)ai-t? 
Will sorrow withdraw its envenomed dart? 



Roland and Hildegarde. 77 



Thus many a night will her spirit grieve, 
And many dark thoughts will her fancy weave ; 
And many a friend will with tenderness seek 
To bring back the rose to that blanching cheek ! 
And many a free knight will ride that way, 

But not the good knight of her heart the lord ; 
And many a minstrel will thither stray. 
And touch the harp to his roundelay, 

Or chant, as he sweeps the boldei- chord, 
The tale — ah ! sad are the tales that tell 
Of the chivah'ous deeds at Eonscavelles, 
Where the ilower of the Christian legions fell, 
And the moan of death, 
And the laboring breath 
Came heavily forth through the visor bars. 
As lances went down like the setting stars ! 



SUCTION II. 



NONENWEETII. 

In the river Ehine is an island fair, 

Like an enierald held by a magical spell ; 
And the nuns of ISTonenwerth worship there, 



78 Legend of the Draclienfels. 



Or (lid, we are told; 
lu that time of old, 
When Eolaud and Hildegarde loved so well. 

The ishmd is bowered with flowering trees 

That bend in protection o'er lilies and roses, 
And is kissed, as a bride, by the brisk morning breeze, 

Or fanned by cool zephyrs when daylight reposes. 
The walls of the convent rise shapely and white, 

Abo^'e the rich masses of foliage green. 
And where the boughs open, their patches of light 

Give a gra(;e and a. charm to the beautiful scene. 

Thither often the eyes of the lone maiden turned, 

As her soul for its solitude piously yearned; 

And hope gave its promise, as thought grew apace. 

That nothing on Earth could l)e more complete, 
For a spirit whose sorrow had saddened to sighs. 

Than the sacred repose of that quiet retreat. 

What the Baron thought. 

She mentioned the matter one day to the baron. 

Who, of course, became angry and stormed like a 
madman ; 

Which shows that a long dissipation will wear on 



Roland and Hildegarde. 



The best man alive till it makes him a bad mau. 
He called her a fool, — 

Which is probably true 
Of more thau one tool 

Of a singular crew. 
He called it unwise 

From the world to retire, 
To waste upon sighs 

Every holy desire, 
lu a general way he declared that to shut up 
Herself as one dead 

Was a crime and a sin ; 
Not thus daily bread 

Could she honestly win ; 
That he lelt, in his old age, most terribly cut up. 

What I think. 
Now I think that when tempests of sorrow prevail. 
We should not let them hope or ambition o'erwhelm, 
But should meet them with fortitude high, 
And boldly their terrors defy ; 
Like the seaman, who, when in the grasp of the gale, 
Calls the watch to their places : 
Clew-garnets and braces, 
Bunts, yard-arms, reef-tackle, and shortens the sail, 



80 Legend of the Drachenfels. 

Aud puts the best man in the ship at the hehn. 

Thus relieved, see how well his good vessel behaves : 

She careens to the tempest, which nothing can 
stay, 

And, instead of resisting, rides over the waves, 

Which sweep off to leeward, defeated, away. 

I grant that a ship is a different thing 

From a woman, except in some matters and ways. 

Such as top-sails, topgallant-sails, sky-sails and span- 
ker, 

And in this, that unless you watch closely her swing, 

She is apt to fall off the true course, or miss stays. 

When another ship tries, on the wind, to out-rank 
her. 

Perhaps I may add, with propriety, here : 

In a storm it is difficult either to steer ! 

The desire of the maiden grew out of her trouble ; 

But I think that she chose the wrong course for a 
cure ; 

For sorrow, when nursed, 

Is a comfort reversed : 

Like a pain, slight in youth, but in age become 
double. 

Which, strange the condition ! we love to endure ! 



Roland and HUdegarde. 81 



SECTION III. 



Convents. 
What the nuns do in convents I care not to know ; 
But I think they scarce realize " heaven below," 
Unless their conception of heaven may be 
Quite afar from the mark upon which others agree. 
Inside life, from the samples that venture abroad, 
With hats out of fashion, serge, crucifix, cord. 
The folds of a napkin enclosing the hair, 
And faces expressive of only despair, 
Confuses, confounds me with wonder and doubt. 
As I gaze at the poor souls thus moving about 
Like dead people vivified — just from the tomb. 
Endowed with all life save its ^agor and bloom ! 

Does Heaven demand a conditi(Hi so sad ? 
Are the comforts of life, then, so terribly bad, 
That a laugh is unholy, and joy is a sin, 

And love but a passion impure ? 
Will the abject alone future happiness win ? 

Woe, eternal contentment secure? 



82 Legend of the DrachenfeU. 



I ask not Miss Gorman to tell me lier trials, 
And why she is pouring out wrath from her phials, 
x\gainst what, as she says, should be ever abhorred : 
The lives that are lived by those brides of the Lord! 
Nor need I refer to our friend, Brigham Young, 

To ask what the comfort, if any, 
For those poor, simple wives to his holy skirts hung, 

Where twelve were a dozen too many. 

Grant that all things are managed with strictest 
propriety, 

Still, with women alone there must be, 
At the best, an indifferent sort of society, 
For, where there's nought else, for the sake of variety, 

Not two in a score will agree. 

Life's lessons and all its great unities prove 

That those who retire to the cloister, 
With nature's high law in such harmony move 

As we see in the life of the oyster. 

To seek for the truth and i^ursue it. 
To strive in the great field of lalior, 

Is to do what is wise, as I view it, 

For we thus honor God and our neighbor. 



Roland and Hildegarde. H'A 

To live bat for self, 

Merely prayiug for others, 
And to put on the shelf 

Parents, sisters and brothers, 
Is a very slow way 

Our treasures to lay up 
Against the great day 
When Heaven, they say, 

All debits will pay up. 

I believe that to pray is to do very well, 
But to do nothing else is to do very ill ; 

For weak is the wisdom of those who rebel 

Against nature, whose forces they cannot compel, 
Unless a strong effort shall second the will. 

A thought never uttered will nothing reveal ; 

The corn must be grown, or we cannot have meal ; 

The brook must flow down, or it won't turn a wheel ; 

The stone must revolve, or it won't grind the corn ; 

The dough must be baked, or the loaf were forlorn. 

We read that an old prophet prayed, where a hatchet 
Was sunk in the Jordan, by dropping, 

Which came up at once, for the owner to catch it 
And go on agaiu with his chopping ! 



84 Legend of the JDrachenfels. 

The thing is not doubted ; but this we belieA^e : 

That steel will not float for the average preacher, 
And we doubt if much buoyancy it would receive 

From the very best effort of Talmage or Beecher, 
Even though the appeal were pathetic, 
For their influence highlj^ magnetic. 
The prophets are dead ; we see only their traces, 

Revealed on historical pages ; 
And now-a-days none seem to fit in their places, 

Like men in the earlier ages. 



Alone in the order of nature we find 

The resultant of forces by wisdom combined. 

A law that is natural cannot betray, 

If never abused in unnatural way. 

I ask the free bird, as it darts through the air : 

What the cause of its flight and its burden of care ? 

And it tells me that yonder, the rushes among, 

It will gather the food for its innocent young. 

The beast stores up milk for the fruit of its womb, 

And the bee gives us sweetness from flowers in bloom. 

I ask: What your mission, O great forest tree? 

What grateful return for your life can you show f 
And it points to the squirrel, and downw^ird to me, 



Roland and Hildegarde. 85 

Aud to beautiiul l;iii(lsc;ipes where other trees 
grow. 

Why shine the great worlds iu the measureless skies ? 
And the infinite voice, in response from afar, 
With echoes resounding from planet and star, 

Tells me infinite wisdom alone can be wise ! 

But we know that for stars there's a grander design, 

Than merely to hang in the heavens and shine. 



To come back to the Earth, — let me ask an old hen, 
What joy, in this world or the next, 
Will re[)ay her, so wronged and so vexed, 

For the eggs which we pilfer again and again ? 

And she tells me that sometimes the farmer forgets. 

And she finds a snug nook, where she patiently sets, 

Calmly waiting what time will api^ear the young 
brood, 

When she, in her lo%'ing, but petulant mood, 

Will scratch around sharply to pick up their food. 

Nay, deem it not foolish nor wrong thus to treat 
A subject so high with such lowly conceit. 
Look well to the text, and I think you will find. 
If your spirit is guileless, your nature is kind, 



80 Legend of the Drachenfels. - 

In the motherly acts 

Of the simi^le old hen, 
A volume of facts 

Worthy even the pen 
And the loftiest thought of the mightiest mind I 

This free world was made for free people to live in, 
To possess and enjoy in life's brief, busj^ season ; 

And till nature shall give out no person should give in 
To what may be conquered by effort and reason. 

Every life has its duty, however we view it, 

Antl the best thing for all is that each one pursue it. 

Our hands were not made to l)e folded in prayer, 

And our lii)s to be constantly muttering creeds ; 
On the flushed brow of hope is no trace of despair; 
In the clean hand of charity 

A dime is worth more 
Than tlie holiest rarity 
Thickly crusted with lore, 
And a peck of shelled corn than a bushel of beads. 

ELind words are not lost, when with sympathy spoken. 
But many a spirit, rel)ellious and proud. 

Has been by kind deeds unto tenderness broken. 
And the sensitive soul with like kindness endowed. 



Roland mid HUdegarde. 



From widely contrasting conditions we gain 

Highest good: as the plant needs both sunlight and 
rain 

To ripen its fruit ; and the oak tree must toil 

With the storm, that its roots may strike deep in the 

soil. 

Pleasure sways us an hour, and then sorrows arise ; 

The seasons of life present varying scenes : 
Autumn leaves are prophetic of June's sunny skies. 

But the Winter, with tempest and cold intervenes. 

These thoughts by the way, — 

Accept, or reject j 
Enough if some say 

They are wise and correct. 
I confess it is somewhat ungracious to set up 

My plate against food on another man's platter; 
But when trouble assails me, my way is to get up, 
And find out, if I can, what the deuce is the matter, 




88 Legend of tlie Drachenfels. 




(Ulattto liftll. 



SECTION I. 



Taking the Veil. 
Why toll the convent bells ? 

And why are the censers swinging % 
Never with funeral knells 

Are the nuns so sweetly singing. 
Is it the matin hour ? 

Is that the vesper chime ? 
No; for the shadows of tower 
And tree that fall 
On the convent wall, 

Mark only the mid-day time. 
And why are the stoled priest 

And the bishop in vestment.s there i 
It is not a day of feast, 

Nor of fast, with its solemn prayer. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 89 



Why gather the crowds at the o\m\. gate ? 

Why kneel on the cold stone floor ? 
And who is the pilgrim that cometh so late, 

So late to the couv^ent door % 
Why wanders his gaze from the island away 

To the castle against the blue sky ? 
Why shades he his face from tlie light of the day, 

And wherefore that low, low sigh ? 

But the bells are ringing, 
The censers are swinging. 
And the kneeling crowd, 
With heads low bowed, 
In whisi)ers pray 
For one not dying, 
Kor lowly lying. 
Yet passing away I 



A moumfnl procession is winding down, 
From the castle down to the river ; 
For Hildegarde now, 
With a cloister vow. 
Her love, her devotion to Eoland will crown, 
By leaving the world forever ! 
The great, open world forever 1 



90 Legend of the Dmchenfels. 



She pauses to think, 

At the river's brink, 

l^'or ii moment to think of lier young life endmg, 

And the loved ones of EarMi who lier steps are at- 
tending; 

Then, waving adieu 

To the sorrowing few 

Around her, she sails for the island shrine, 

To finish the cup of life's bitter wine; 

And the boatmen strong. 

As they waft her along. 

Keep time to her moans as their oars are bending : 

The river is passed, 

And she gives one last, 
Last look to her home so fair,; 

Then, raising her eyes 

Toward the pitiless skies, 
She clasps her white hands in prayer. 

But no message of love 

From the realms above, 
Bids her sorrow and sighing depart; 

And slie ])asses along 

Through the kneeling throng, 
With a widowed and breaking heart ! 



Roland and HUdegarde. 91 

Why still by the door does that pilgrim stand ? 

Why stands the lone pilgrim there ? 
And why, when her white mantle tonches his hand, 
Does she start like a frightened hare ? 

But the censers swing, 
And the veiled nuns sing, 
As on toward the chancel they lead her slowly ; 
To the bishop she bends, as a lily pale, 
And then, with a sigh, as her love's last wail, 
She sinks on the ground by the altar lowly. 

Her beautiful head. 
While the prayers are said,^ 
Is bent toward the shrine rich and olden. 
And her ringlets unbound 
Fall her shoulders around. 
In soft masses, wavy and golden. 
Now the chants are done, 

And she timidly glances, 
Where a sad-eyed nun 
With the abbess advances, 
The curls from ner bended head to sever, — 
Those curls which her lover had pressed! 
The curls which his lips had caressed ! 



92 Legend of the Draehenfels. 



And the bisliop has asked if she freely couseuts 
To give up tlie world, with its caies and iuteuts,— ^ 

The free, glad world forever ! 
And thought, for a moment, takes wing and flies 
To the great, broad Eartli and the sunny skies ! 

To the fawn that upspriugs, 

At her loving call, 
Where the dark ivy clings 

To the castle wall, 
In the free world she leaves forever I 

To the falcon she loves, 

And its daring flight 5 
To her beautiful doves, 

In their plumage bright. 
In the free world she leaves forever ! 

To the birds, and the bees, 

And the lowing kine, 
To the evening breeze 

On the flowing Kliine, 
In the free world she leaves forever ! 

To the stars so bright 
In the midnight sky, 



Roland and Hildeqarde. 93 



And the mild love-light 
Of a friendly eye, 
In the free world she leaves forever ! 

To the joy of her soul 

In its iDure love-birth, 
Kith, kindred, the whole 
Of the bountiful Earth, 
In the free world she leaves forever ! 
O God ! is it right thus to sever 
Pure souls from the bright world forever ? 

The Eescue. 

But before she can utter the binding word. 
The voice of the pilgrim and stranger is heard. 
Saying : " No ! I forbid !" and with rapid stride 

He passes beyoud the chancel rail; 
His pilgrim's garb he has cast aside, 

And a warrior he stands, in his shining mail ! 

The jioor kneeling girl, when that voice she hears, 
Starts tremblingly up, — then, with eloquent tears. 
She springs to his side ! but her senses take flight. 
As she sinks at the feet of her faithful knight, 
Who gazes with rapturous love on her face, 
As he raises her fondly, with tender emlnace ! 



94 Legend of the DrachenfeU. 

Did you ever, my reader, throw cudgels, or stones 

At a hornet's frail, brown-paper nest, 
And then scamper away, almost hearing the bones. 

As they rattled and shook in your chest ? 
If so, you can partly imagine the scene 

In the convent when Eoland appeared ; 
He, of all that assemblage, was somewhat serene; — 
The nuns looked sad. 
Some were probably glad, 
The abbess looked mad. 
And the bishop a man to be feared. 

The knight, with strong arms, 

His foir burden bore. 
Now richer in charms 
Than ever before. 
Away from the convent's open door. 

They tried to restrain him, 

To daunt and detain him ; — 

The bishop cried : " Sacrilege ! sacrilege ! Stop him !" 

But no one was willing or anxious to drop him ! 

"Desecration!" the abbess cried; "Stop her! O 
stop her !" 

But Roland seemed very unwilhng to drop her ! 



Roland and HUdegarde. 95 

And swiftlj', not heeding 
Their anger or pleading, 

He bore off his sweet but insensible bride, 

And placed her once more by her old father's side ! 



Why linger to tell 
All that after befel 
In the convent that lost the fair lady ? 
It was clearly a case 
Calling only for grace ; 
And a present of kine, 

Meal, butter and honey, 
Some barrels of wine, 
And some ready money, 
Mjide the bishop and abbess keep shady. 
The former was pleased, 
The latter, appeased. 
Remarked that, considering all things about her, 
The convent could better be managed without her. 
The father confessor 
Forgave the transgressor ; 
The abbess did better: 
When Hildegarde met her, 
She hastened to kiss and to bless her ! 



96 Legend of the Draclienfeh. 



SECTION II. 



The Wedding. 
I leave to the reader's conjecture, 

The rapture of all at the meeting ; 
The baron gave both a good lecture, 

Sui)plemeuting his fatherly greeting. 

His remarks were, I fear, interlarded 

With words called profane by the churches ; 

Words which nowhere polite are regarded, 
As I learn in my social researches. 

But auger is short when the heart is 
Appealed to by love's tearful wailing; 

And your testy but tender old parties 
Are aye better loved for the failing. 

Without further miscarriage, 

The wedding and marriage 
Took place a few evenings thereafter; 

And the banqueting hall 

Was garlanded all, 
From threshold and wainscot to rafter. 



RoJand and Rildegarde. 97 



The bishop was there, 

lu caiu)iiicals line ; 
Gay, suave, debouaire 

Was that oily diviue. 

A princess was tliere, — 

Before and behind her. 
So much rigging and hair, 

One hardly could find her. 

Old lovers were there, 

By the baron invited, 
To see the affair 

In due form expedited. 

The minstrel was there, — 
Not the man with the organ. 

Who grinds out an air 
Unlike Doctor Morgan. 

The palmer was there, — 

Not the man that was drowned ; 
His body was where 

It could never be found. 



98 Legend of the Draehenfels. 

The peasant was there, 
Shy of baron and all ; — 

The occasions were rare 
When be came to the hall. 

In short, there was. there 

Such a crowd, young and old, 

That the butler's despair 
It was pain to behold. 

♦ 

Whole oxen and swine 
Were lavishly roasted, 

And in bariels of wine 
Everj^body was toasted. 



The lordly old baron presided in state. 
High-throned at the head of the hall, 

In his mood and his bearing serene and sedate, 
As he greeted the guests, one and all. 

In a new suit of mail, burnished up very brightly. 

With his merry men all by his side, 
His spear in his hand, which he grasped very tightly, 

He appeared like a monarch in pride. 



Roland and Hildegarde. 99 

The bride was arrayed in the costliest stuffs : 
Her robe was white satin, point lace were the cuffs ; 
The corsage was garnished with lilies and pearls, 
Among which hung lightly her fair auburn curls. 
Her veil was illusion — (by the old abbess given, — 
And a very good joke for a daughter of heaven.) 
The ring blazed with jewels, the wreath was the same 
As that commonly worn by the soon- to-be dame 
Her shoes were white kid, having buckles of gold ; 
(Stockings then were not made for the men to behold.) 
Her gloves — sixteen button — were wonders to see ; 
Her handkerchief bore the initials : "H. D.," 
And was perfumed with that very excellent scent 
Which Johann Farina had skill to invent, 
Whose only true shop, ostentatiously shown, 
You can find anywhere in the town of Cologne. 
Her train — then as now the despair of the sages — 
Was stoutly upborne by a dozen young pages. 

The bridegroom was gorgeous in armor of steel. 
Which, minus the helmet, was full to the heel ; 
And he shcne, in the light by tlie phie torches made, 
Like a burnished fire-engine when out for ijarade. 

As they stood by the altar, or knelt in the prayer, 
I warrant they were a right elegant pair. 



100 Legend of the Drachenfels. 



In the service the answers came i)romptly and pat in, 
And the blessing was solemnly uttered in latin. 

The Banquet. 
The banquet that followed was worthy the sire 

Of 'a maiden so fair, an occasion so grand; 
The viands were all that the guests, ct)uld desire, 

And the wine was the oldest and best in the land. 

The baron and bishop hobnobbed at tlie table, 
The latter distinguished for grace and for suavity ; 

And both appeared anxious to see which was able 
To hold the most wine without losing his gravity. 

The strife was protracted, for both were sad drinkervS, 
Not apt with the old Ehenish wine to get fu(ldle<l ; 

They drank till the others had shut up their winkers, 
And under the table were cosily cuddled, 
But the baron was iioored ere the bishop was 
muddled! 




Some Other Poems. 101 

SONG OF KEQCIIEM. 

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 



From beyond vast ocean wave, 
From a long neglected grave, 
From a far and foreign strand, 
Welcome to thy native land. 

Earth of home ! in honor hold, 
Thine for aye, his ashes cold ; 
Softly, as on mother breast, 
Fold them in eternal rest. 

Spirit.! come from realm sublime. 
Pilgrim to this land of time, — 
When bright birds their ])lumage preen. 
Hither come with brow serene j 

Greet thy loving friends Miat wait 
Hither side the pearly gate 
Opening to the home of peace, 
Where all mournful memories cease. 



102 ^ome Other Poems. 

Lo ! the nations turn to thee ! 
Thou art richer now than we; 
Million homes to thee belong', 
Minstrel of the tender song. 

This, a consecrated shrine 
For these ashes, shall be thine, 
Azure heaven its temjile dome. 
Thine, who sang the hj^mn of home. 

Ah ! to utter words so sweet, 
Knowing thou that weary feet 
Could not reach the dear abode : 
Soul-rest on the heavenly road. 

Homeless ! thou for kindness made ; 
Prospered often — oft betrayed ; 
Prized — neglected, like the flower 
Toy of beauty's idle hour ! 

What sweet hope inspired tby theme ' 
Whence the angel of thy dream ? 
Soul of song ! thy notes reveal 
Strains of seraph Israfll. 



Some Other Poems. 103 



Didst behold, in vision bright, 
Home of youth, in summer light ? 
Didst remember mother's joj', 
Loving thee, her gentle boy ? 

Tears of wandering over Earth ; 
Stranger to the land of birth ; 
Hither borne and thither tossed ; 
Honors won, but comforts lost ; 

Far from friendly hearth and hand, 
Dying in a lonely land, 
Oh, how hard the bitter pang, 
Not to know the joy he sang ! 

Home, poor ashes ! peril past. 
Sleep, secure from every blast. — 
Earth, to thee this precious trust: 
Death to silence, dust to dust. 

Love his grave, O, pale, sweet Moon ! 
Sun of evening, morn and noon, 
And ye, radiant angel eyes. 
Stars of night's unclouded skies. 



104 Some Other Poemr,. 



Gentle birds be loved so well, 
Faima of the wooded dell, 
There rehearse your tender woes, 
Where caressing hands repose. 

As the ruder seasons pass. 
Faded flowers and felted jirass. 
Withered leaves and falling- snow, 
Over him a mantle throw. 

When retires gray winter old, 
And the grasses pierce the mold, 
When the early robins bring 
Tidings of the virgin spring. 

Eootlets, threads of nature's looiw, 
Weave a fragrant robe of l)loom : 
Shed for him the den-l)orii tear, 
Darlings of the vernal year. 

Thus shall passing time relate, 
Stories of his life and fate: 
Spring and summer moods and flowers, 
Harvest hopes and wintry hours. 



Some Other Poems. 105 

Million-voiced, and aye, and aye, 
Strains of his beloved lay 
Chanted here, and evermore 
Echoed from the angel shore, 

Wind of winter, summer breeze, 
Bird-notes in the rustling- trees. 
Song of land and song of sea. 
These his requiem shall be. 



FAIR AMERICA. 

LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD 

By order of the Executive Committee of the Bartholdi Statue Associn- 
tion, a copy of this Hymn was placed in the Cornerstone of the 
Pedestal for the great Statue of " Liberty Enlightening the World," 
which the generous French Reiiublic presented to the United States, 
at the laying of the Corner Stone, with Masonic ceremonies, on Bed- 
loe's Island, New York Harbor, August 5, 18S4. 



Fair America rose, in the pride of her youth, 

Witli the wisdom of age in her noble endeavor, 

When her statesmen proclaimed to the nations the 
truth 

That the birthright of man is equality ever. 



L06 Some Other Foems. 

A.nd her joyous Amen ! is re-echoing still 

Over waves of the sea, over valley and hill, 

Where the free winds are waving her banner un- 
furled, 

With the splendor of stars that illumine the world ! 

In the perils and woes of thine earliest days, 

O, America! strong was the hand that enslaved 
thee; 

But thy trust was in God, and, through marvelous 
ways. 

From the grasp of the spoiler thy Washington 
saved thee. — 

And the laurel immortal bestowed on his brow. 

By the nations approved, is thine heritage now; — 

Mighty empires salute thee, thy banner unfurled, 

With the splendor of stars that illumine the world ! 

Lo ! a nation newborn, yet with histories old. 
Sends a gift unto thee, with embraces fraternal; 

Bail ! thou promise of light unto millions uhtold ! 
May thy benm be to all as the radiance supernal. 

Guide the pilgrim of Liberty over the sea, — 

And thou, country, defend him that cometh to thee. 



Some Other Poems. 107 



With the shield and the falchion, thy banner un 

furled, 
With the splendor of stars that illumine the world ! 

Bird of Freedom, thou guard ever watchful and true, 
Over all the loved homes in these favored domin- 
ions, 
Stoop awhile from thy flight in the high ether blue, 
Where the sunhght is gilding thy cloud-spurning 
pinions ; — 
Hither come, O thou king of the bleak mountain 

crag ! 
Greet as emblem fraternal the guest of our flag, 
On that type of fair heaven, our banner unfurled. 
With the splendor of stars that illumine the world ! 

Fair America ! crowned as with radiance divine, 
May thy virtue preserve what the fathers be- 
queathed thee ; 
Still the light on thy brow beam the promise benign. 
And the laurel be green with which fame hath en- 
wreathed thee. 
As the years onward move through the ages ofGod, 
And the nations atar seek the path thou hast trod, 
Point thine emblem all-glorious, thy banner unfurled. 
With the splendor of stars that illumine the world ! 



108 Some Other Poems. 



BABY'S SHOES, 



The ragged brown toes of my baby's sboes, 

That lie on my closet shelf, 
I would not from teuderest memory lose, 

For the best of my hoarded pelf. 
They recall the sweet darling that on(;e was mine, 

Mine own in my loving arms : 
Dimpled cheeks, rosy lips and blue eyes so tine. 

And a thousand sweet baby charms. 

One heel is low-worn, the other is gone. 

And the linings are frayed and torn ; 
For fleet were the feet of my household fawn. 

When these dear little shoes were worn. 
r loved the soft trotters to fondle and kiss. 

And the joy of that love-caress. 
Was akin to the dream of my old-time bliss, 

When these shoes to my lips I press. 

Three buttons are left of the half a score, 

And there's many a wrinkle gray; 
They were tidy and trim when my pet first wore, 

But I deem them more lovely to-day. 



Some Other Poems. 100 

I wonder if babies in parartise wear, 

With their beautiful robes complete, 
Golden slippers more precious, or half so fair, 

Ou their pink-and-white tiny feet. 

Oh, what of the flowers that fade and die "? 

Delights that unstable prove "? 
I had rather, than all that my money can buy, 

Have a few dear things to love : 
Sweet memories for smiles, some for teuderest tears, 

As ever I pick and choose, 
Some things that i-ecall my happier years, 

Like these beautiful baby shoes. 



SUMMER M O E N I N G 



Peerless in sj)lendor the Sun-chief advances. 
Leading his hosts round the wakening world : 

Armies majestic, with gold-shafted lances. 
Pennons gay-streaming and banners unfurled. 

Voices of gladness to glad echoes calling, 
Cadence and swell of the far-away horn. 



110 ^ome Other Poems. 

Mystery music, on spirit ear falling, 

Herald thine advent, O, wonderful Morn ! 

Spiced with sweet odors from palm-bearing island>;, 

Lightly th"j' squadrons, the frolicsome gales. 

Charge through the shields of the oaks on the high- 
lands, 

Bustle the dew-jeweled brakes in the vales. 
Billowing grain-fields on hillsides are beaming j 

Orchards are golden with apples and corn ; 
Song-birds give voice to their summer night drean:- 

Hailing thee, loving thee, beautiful Morn ! 

Come, O my darling ! with gladness and singing ; 

All things rejoice in thy beauty and worth ; 
Lo ! from the meadows thy lovers are bringing 

Treasures to thee of the bountiful earth. — 
Brown-tinted shrubs with ripe berries are laden ; 

Hasten, ye nymphs in the summer-woods born. 
Give fruits and flowers to my white-bosomed maiden, 

Flushed with thy radiance, O marvelous Morn ! 



Some Other Poems. Ill 



BLANCHE OF KILDARE. 



To the altar they lead her, in bridal attire, 

Decked with emblems of honor and i)Ower, 
For the Earl of Killarney, despite her desire. 

Would make her the light of his tower. 
But his coronet pales in the flash of her eye, 

And the sheen of her long, golden hair; 
O, serene were the countess whose splendor could vie 

With the beauty of Blanche of Kildare ! 

But her sjiirit is sad, and her aspect forlorn. 

For she muses of happier years; 
Like the glow, and the glory, the promise of morn. 

Lost in darkness of clouds and their tears. 
Station, honor in view can no comfort impart, 

An<l her future seems black with despair ! 
Thus, with scorn on her lips and a wail in her heart. 

In the chancel stands Blanche of Kildare. 

Who comes o'er the moor, with impetuous speed ? 
What chieftain to rescue and save? 

Who spurs to the altar liis foam-covered steed, 

Like the rush of a shore-driven wave ! 



1V2 Some Other Poems. 

It is JameSj of far Euuis ! true lover and bold, 

Peer iu birth of the lordliest there ! 
Lightly stooping, and qaickly, his strong anus enfold 

The half- fainting Blanche of Kildare ! 

Now leap from the portal and speed at your best ! 

Off! courser, away, and away! 
With the knight in the saddle, the maid on his breast. 

You must bear double burden to-day. 
And fleet, like the wind from the mountain, was he : 

Good steed ! bearing lovers so rare ; 
And a fond, gentle captive and smiling is she, 

The true-hearted Blanche of Kildare. 

The young chieftain, in guise of a lowly esquire, 

Had won the sweet maid of the dale, 
Ere the base-born, her kinsmen, for treacherous hire. 

Betrayed the fair flower of their vale. 
Though a child of the cot, she presides in the hall. 

With a grace ever winning and fair, 
And a hundred retainers will arm at tlie call 

Of the hamlet born Blanche of Kildare. 



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